somewhere in the living room, one of the partygoers shoved another. it had started small with just raised voices and all, until a glass hit the floor and shattered loud enough to cut through all the other noise. 

“fuck,” someone laughed nervously. 

you leaned against the wall, sipping from your cup as a small crowd began to form around the scene. it wasn’t your first time seeing this happen at one of these parties. 

but then you saw him. james. 

he wasn’t shouting, which was the weird part. his jaw was tight in a way that resembled control, and his eyes were sharp like everything had been decided before the first punch even landed. 

it happened fast—a shove, a swing, a yell, and the dull sound of impact. 

a few people tried to pull them apart but james barely budged, knuckles already reddening like he’d done this a thousand times before. 

you watched for a second longer than you should have. not because you were shocked, but because it was… him.

he moved as if everything was calculated, yet also reckless—as if he didn’t care whether or not he walked away with blood on his knuckles. 

eventually, his friend, jaehyun, pushed through the crowd and swore loudly as he dragged him back. 

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” jaehyun snapped. 

james scoffed, wiping at his lip with the sleeve of his shirt. there was a smear of red, but he didn’t really look like he cared. 

“i’m fine.”

his eyes met yours for half a second. he didn’t react, but looked at you like you were a part of the background—just like the music, the lights, and everything else in the room. and then he looked away. 

you took a slow sip of your drink, scoffing to yourself. 

of course. 

he was just your brother’s friend. why did you care?

☆

two weeks later, you found yourself at yet another party.

the music was too loud, bodies pressed against one another; a lost earring here, a random drink left alone there. you were standing in the kitchen, the only moderately empty place left in your house—where your twin brother, riki, was hosting the party.

you held a red cup, like at every stereotypical university party, laughing a little drunkenly at something the guy in front of you said. you couldn’t remember his name—shota? seob? something with an ‘s’, you remembered that much.

he wasn’t pushy, but genuinely nice. maybe someone you’d like to be friends with, under different circumstances.

“—and yeah, that’s why i strongly feel that transformers is the best franchise that paramount has ever put out,” he said. you nodded along thoughtfully because you didn’t really know anything about transformers anyway.

suddenly, a warm hand wrapped around your wrist firmly.

“hey—!” you blinked, turning around.

it was him.

james, your brother’s closest friend.

without sparing the other guy a glance, just nodding politely, he pulled you away like it was a common occurrence. “come on.”

you stumbled slightly behind him, laughing slowly. “james, wait, wait—”

he only stopped when you were both out on the balcony, cool breeze ruffling your hair. 

he didn’t let go of your wrist.

“what was that?” you asked, teasing. you leaned against the railing, looking at the skyline.

you don’t notice his jaw tighten. “you don’t know him.”

“i was talking to him. kinda how it works.”

“he was hitting on you.”

“people… do that at parties, yeah,” you said slowly, confused. why did he care anyway?

annoyance flashed across his face, something else simmering underneath. “you drank too much.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “did i?”

“yeah.”

“wait,” you paused, gasping suddenly. “you look like him!”

he looked at you in confusion as you stepped closer to him, making him go still.

“...what?”

“my brother’s best friend. you look exactly like him!” you grinned crookedly with hazy eyes locked on his face.

“i am him. you said my name just a while ago,” he stared at you.

you paused for a second, thinking. “no.”

“no?”

“he’s meaner,” you explained, as if the difference was obvious. you reached up to poke his cheek, as if you were testing a theory. “and like… prettier.”

“oh, he’s pretty?” he echoed, his breath catching.“yes,” you said seriously. “annoyingly pretty. very unfair.”

a beat. neither of you moved as your breaths mixed in the space between your bodies. the music from the party faded into the background as the air shifted.

the hand that was still around your wrist loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go. “you should sit down. you’re drunk as fuck.”

“you should stop whisking me away from nice guys,” you glared at him, but there was no real bite to your words.

“he wasn’t nice.”

you tilted your head, looking at his pretty eyes. “why do you sound jealous?”

“i’m not. jealous, i mean.”

you leaned into him conspiratorially. “you’re a terrible liar,” you whispered.

he exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. “you’re drunk, yn.”

“i’m fine. see. one, two three,” you counted on your fingers. “i can see fine. i’m barely drunk. i’m not even slurring my words!” you said proudly.

a comfortable silence wrapped around you before he spoke again. quieter, this time.

“i don’t like people looking at you like that,” he said slowly, as if saying it louder meant it would become terrifyingly real.

“like what?” your smile faltered.

“like i wasn’t already there.” his eyes met yours, determined not to look away.

the words weighed on your heart as you blinked rapidly, trying to process the heart-shaped sirens going off in your brain.

“that doesn’t even make sense,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him.

“it does.”

“no, it doesn’t,” you looked right at him. “you’re… you.”

he huffed out something between a scoff and a humourless laugh. “good argument. a great one.”

“i’m serious,” you pouted. “you don’t count.”

his expression shifts, eyes hooded. “i don’t… count?”

“yeah. you can’t. you’re, like,” you gestured vaguely with your hands, slightly sobering up, “permanent. like furniture. or… wait—no. like, background music. you’re always just there.”

“furniture,” he echoed flatly. 

“important furniture,” you corrected him, holding up a finger. 

he stared at you, jaw tightening. “right.”

“why do you look like that?” you furrowed your eyebrows. 

“like what?”

“like i insulted you or something.”

“you did.”

“i didn’t!” you protested, moving closer to him. “i said you’re important.” you invaded his space without thinking. 

“by comparing me to a damn chair.”

“a good chair! an important chair,” you nodded solemnly. 

he let out a short laugh that sounded more amused and fond than exasperated. he shook his head. “you’re so… impossible.”

“yeah? but you like me sooo much,” you grinned, swaying slightly on your feet. 

he stilled as the mood shifted yet again. “yeah.” he paused, his voice dropping lower so you couldn’t fully hear him. “that’s kind of the problem.”

you looked up at him again, staring at him like he was a complex mathematical equation, waiting to be solved. 

god, you loved math. 

“you are pretty,” you decided. 

“okay, you need some water,” he smiled fondly at you, eyes crinkling.

“no, listen.” you reached to brush your fingers against his jaw slowly. “has anyone ever told you that? because i feel like they should. you’re really really pretty.”

the tips of his ears began to turn red slowly. he inhaled sharply at the physical contact. 

“you’re drunk,” he repeated his previous words, but they sounded weaker this time. 

“maybe,” you mumbled. you stepped even closer, leaving barely any distance between the two of you. “but i’m also very right.”

he looked down at you—really looked. and whatever he saw in your eyes finally made him start saying what he wanted to. 

“don’t say stuff you won’t remember tomorrow,” he said seriously. 

“why wouldn’t i remember?” you frowned. 

“because,” he took a deep breath. “because you shouldn’t.”

“that’s stupid,” you shrugged. 

“yeah?” he cocked an eyebrow. “why?”

“i think i’d wanna remember you,” you muttered, your cold fingers still resting against his jaw, absentmindedly tracing circles. “this.”

it was like your words finally unlocked a hidden part of him. his hand came up, hesitating for just a second near your waist like he should maybe stop, but he pulled you in instead. 

the kiss wasn’t quick, nor was it rushed. 

it was careful at first, like he was wondering if it was real. if you’d pull away. if maybe he should. neither of you did. 

you leaned into him, as if it were the most natural thing ever. as if you’d done this a thousand times before. like you fit perfectly together. 

“yn, god.”

your hand slipped from his jaw to the back of his neck—grounding you, or him, or both. he groaned into your mouth. it made the ‘careful’ bit disappear. 

“james.”

months, no, years of something unspoken finally slipped through your lips into the small space you shared on that cold balcony. the kiss lasted so long, you forgot about everything else. the party. the random nice guy inside. the fact that you were kissing your brother’s best friend. and the fact that it was a terrible idea. 

the lack of oxygen to your brain only made it more memorable. his other hand rested against your cheek, caressing you softly. 

his eyes opened suddenly, and he pulled away as quickly as everything had started.

“…fuck,” he whispered. 

you blinked up at him, still slightly dazed, buzzing from the aftermath of… him.

“…hi,” you said softly. 

he stared at you. “you’re drunk,” he said for the third time that night, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. 

“jus’ a little,” you hummed. he dragged a hand over his face. 

“i shouldn’t have—”

“you kissed me,” you interrupted, like you were documenting it. 

“i shouldn’t have,” he repeated. 

“but you did,” you pressed. 

he exhaled sharply, trying to compose himself. “yeah, i did.”

“i liked it,” you muttered softly.

his eyes widened. “stop. don’t—don’t say that. not unless—”

“unless what?”

“unless you mean it. when you’re sober.”

“what if i do?”

he doesn’t reply to you. he can’t.

“stay here,” he guided you towards a chair on the balcony, hand on your lower back. “i’ll get you some water.”

you watched the back of his head as he slid the door close behind him slowly. 

☆

the next morning felt wrong in every way possible. not in a the-world-is-ending kind of way, but just… weirdly off. you woke up with a dull headache and a faint memory of cold air, and muffled music, and—oh. 

oh. 

you shot up in your bed, rising so fast your head spun. the balcony. the kiss. him. james. 

you flopped back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling like it had personally wronged you. 

“okay,” you whispered to yourself even though nobody was in the room. “okay. cool. okay. that happened.”

and then, your brain began trying to protect you: maybe it didn’t mean anything. you were drunk. he was just there. being… him.

you clung to your thoughts like a lifeline because the alternative was… worse. 

you don’t see him for two days after that.

which was very out of character for him, because he’s almost always at your house to hang out with your brother. 

riki didn’t even notice anything. you pretended to scroll casually on your phone while asking him the question that had been plaguing your thoughts for the past two nights. “where’s james been?”

“busy,” your brother shrugged. “why?”

“no reason.” you tried to ignore the way your heart drops to your stomach. “just haven’t seen him around much these days.”

on the third day, he showed up. you heard his voice before you saw him—the voice that had repeated ‘you’re drunk’ a billion times that night, as if that changed anything. suddenly, you went stiff. every one of your nerve endings stood on high alert. 

“—told mr. lee we’ll submit it later,” he was busy saying, walking into the living room like nothing happened. like nothing changed. 

you stood frozen in the kitchen doorway.

he looked up and found your eyes, and for half a second, he paused. a tiny pause. it was barely there, but you noticed anyway. of course you did. 

“hey,” he said, calm and collected. 

“hi,” you replied, even more so. 

without missing a beat, riki said, “she was asking about you.”

you shot him a glare. “i was not.”

“sure,” he smirked, not looking up from his phone the whole time. 

you risked another glance at james, but he was already looking away. 

and that’s how it began.

not with a fight; not because of any jealousy. 

with avoidance.

he stopped sitting next to you after that. he stopped teasing you like he used to, before… that night. he stopped looking at you for more than just half a second at a time, as if your face personally offended him. 

and you? you pretended it didn’t bother you. you talked to other boys when he was around—some of your brother’s other friends. you laughed a little louder on purpose. 

you acted like you hadn’t memorised the way his voice sounded when he said your name that night. 

whatever. 

the next weekend, there was another party; someone’s birthday. it was a smaller group of people this time. 

you considered not showing up, but you refused to be the one that avoided him.

so you went. but you didn’t look for him. 

well, not obviously, anyway.

you were mid-conversation with a guy—a nice one again— when you felt it. the feeling of someone watching you. your eyes flitted across the room and met james’. he was already looking. 

his eyes momentarily flickered to the guy you’d been talking to, and then back to you again. something unreadable flashed across his face, and then he looked away.

like it didn’t matter. like you didn’t matter.

well, fine then. if he wanted to act like that, you could too.

so, you stayed, and laughed, and smiled at all the right times, letting the conversation flow with this random nice guy for longer than you normally would.

you didn’t miss the way james’ jaw clenched and unclenched from across the room. even from so far away, you could see it.

he finally snapped about fifteen minutes later. you hadn’t even seen him approach you. you just felt his body behind yours.

“can i talk to you?” he asked. he sounded so polite, though there was clearly no room for argument. whoever you’d been talking to looked between the two of you, hesitating before taking the very obvious cue that he was no longer needed, and walked away.

and just like that, you were being pulled away again. déjà vu. except this time, you weren’t drunk, and neither was he.

“what the fuck is your problem, james?” you asked the second you were out of earshot of most of the party.

“my problem?” he repeated.

“yes! your damn problem,” you snapped. “you can’t just ignore me for a week and just—do this.”

“i wasn’t ignoring you.”

“you absolutely were.”

“i was giving you space.”

“i didn’t ask for any,” you said finally. he ran a rough hand over his face.

“you were drunk,” he said. that seemed to be the only sentence he knew to speak around you.

“what are you trying to say, james?”

“it shouldn’t have happened, yn.”

that stung a lot more than you expected. great. “...right. of course.”

“wait—that’s—that’s not what i meant,” he sighed.

“it kind of exactly is,” you let out a humourless laugh, crossing your arms. “relax,” you added sharply. “you don’t have to worry. i won’t accidentally kiss you again.”

his eyes changed. “that’s not—”

“then what is it?” you cut in before he could pull more words right out of his ass again. “because from where i’m standing, it looks a lot like you regret it.”

instead of saying anything, he just stood there. like a fucking statue. and that hurt more than anything he could’ve said.

“got it,” you sighed, turning to leave.

his hand caught your wrist. again.

“you think i regret that?” he said in a low voice.

“don’t you?” you said, without turning back to look at him.

he didn’t say anything for a second. until—

“no.”

your breath stilled. “then what?” you asked, exasperated.

his grip tightened slightly, holding onto the last thread of something he didn’t fully comprehend yet.

“you’re his sister.”

there it was. the unspoken rule. the line he assumed he couldn’t cross. 

“so?” you challenged him, finally turning back to look at him. “i was that before, too.”

“yeah, but i used to know how to handle that.”

“and now?”

“i don’t.”

his eyes dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second before coming back up to meet your eyes.

you swallowed. “that sounds like a you problem.”

“it is.”

“then stop making it mine.” you pulled your wrist out of his grip harshly and turned to walk away.

that was the worst part: the part where everything was so so real that you couldn’t ignore it, and also too complicated to fix.

☆

the conversation loomed over your head for a while. you thought about all the ‘almost’ moments you’d had in the past, the late night glances that lasted a little too long to be ‘just friendly’.

until one night, while you’re sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone mindlessly.

your brother’s friends had come over, but everybody had either clocked out in his room or went back home. except him.

he walked into the living room, and stopped when he saw you. you looked up to meet his eyes.

“we should probably talk,” he said. 

you hummed in agreement. “yeah. probably.”

he sat a little farther away from you this time—not too close, but not too far either.

“i meant what i said, you know?” he started. you raised your eyebrows. “about… about not regretting it. i don’t.” you didn’t respond yet. you didn’t know how to. “i just… i didn’t expect it to matter this much.”

you finally looked at him. ”it mattered to me, too,” you confessed. “a lot.”

he smiled. “figured.”you mirrored his sad smile. “great, we’re both miserable. love that for us. nice. people would looove having us at their parties,” you joked. he let out a quiet laugh. and for a moment, you didn’t say anything.

“i don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen,” he said softly.

“then don’t.”

“it’s not that simple, yn.”

“it never is.”

he waited a beat, organising his thoughts to produce a coherent sentence. “do you want it to… happen again?”

your heart backflipped in your chest. you held his gaze. “yeah,” you said, nodding. no alcohol or hesitation this time—just the raw truth.

something in his eyes finally settled. like a decision that had been pending for too long was finally made.

he shifted closer to you, nodd. “then we figure it out,” he said.

“even if it’s messy?”

“it already is.”

you couldn’t argue with him on that.

the corners of your lips tugged upwards without your knowledge. “okay.”

he nodded, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding for so long.

“come here,” he whispered, opening his arms.

you closed the distance, shuffling closer to him. he pulled you into his lap.

you leaned closer, determined to not let him get away this time.

and he didn’t.

for a second, he just looked at you, like he was checking if this was real; if you were real. like he was committing the moment you were sharing to memory before it even happened.

his hand came up slowly, not rushed or impulsive, settling against your cheek.

“you sure?” he murmured in a low voice.

“stop asking,” you said while nodding. and that was all it took.

he kissed you with intention this time, not hesitation. softer at first, as if he was pacing himself, like he knew how easy it would be to lose control when he was with you. his thumb brushed your cheek.

“you’re beautiful,” he muttered against your lips.

you kissed him back just as deliberately, closing the few millimetres of space he was trying to leave between you. your fingers slid into his hair, and the small breath he let out felt like a reward.

“you’re prettier,” you laughed, pulling back before leaning in again.

the kiss deepened naturally, a sort of push and pull—a song and dance, if you will—like something that had been simmering long enough. every time he pulled back a bit, you followed, not letting him retreat into his head this time.

his other hand found your waist, gripping tightly, trying to ground himself.

“you’re so—” he cut himself off, pressing his forehead against yours like he needed a second.

“what?” you whispered, breath uneven.

he shook his head, beginning to laugh. “nothing, just—”

you didn’t let him finish. you kissed him again, softer, but firmer in intention.

his hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, resting there familiarly before pulling you closer like he’d finally decided to stop holding back.

“you’re not furniture,” you said against his mouth, not pulling away entirely.

“good. i’d be a terrible chair,” he laughed. your lips touched every time one of you spoke.

“yeah, you would.”

his eyes flicked between yours. neither of you moved away.

and for the first time since that night on the balcony, it didn’t feel like something that kept slipping through your fingers—it felt like something you were both finally holding onto.

☆

the first time it happened, it was almost accidental. your brother was in the next room, yelling at someone on his phone—probably his friend, heeseung, who forgot to turn up to their band practice again—while you were in the kitchen, looking for some snacks.

you heard footsteps behind you. “you’re avoiding me again.”

“i’m in the kitchen,” you said dryly. “that’s just me existing, jamie.”

he huffed at your response. “you’ve been weird all day.”

“so have you,” you pointed out.

he waited a beat before spreading his arms out. “c’mere.”

you turned this time. “why?”

“because i said so.”

“that’s not a good reason.” but you stepped closer anyway.

he glanced at the doorway, looking for any sign of riki, and then back at you. “you’re doing that thing again.”

“what thing?” you murmured.

“acting like you don’t know what this is. what we are.”

you tilted your head slightly with a teasing smile. “maybe i don’t.”

“liar,” he said quietly, his hands finding your waist, pulling you closer.

he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth, just shy of your lips. the barely-there kiss still managed to knock the breath out of you.

and just like that, he stepped back—as if nothing happened. as if he didn’t just steal away your ability to think straight.

“what—” you started.

“your brother’s coming,” he muttered.

and right then, riki walked in. “oi, did you find anything to eat?”

you jumped, grabbing a random packet. “chips.”

he didn’t even question it. but when you glanced up, james was leaning against the counter, completely normal. like his hands weren’t on you two seconds ago. like he hadn’t just kissed you.

that’s kind of how it became a thing. your relationship didn’t have a definitive ‘start’ or anything. it wasn’t official or defined, just stolen.

it started with texts; nothing too obvious.

‘alive?’ he texted.

‘on the brink of death,’ you texted back.

‘dramatic ass.’

‘you like it.’

‘i do.’ and then he double texts, like men these days didn’t erase that concept. ‘meet me at our balcony.’

your heart did a stupid little flip, and the heart-shaped sirens in your brain went off like they did the first night everything started.

you met him there that night—same cold air. same spot. different energy between you.

“you keep summoning me like this,” you rolled your eyes teasingly.

“you keep coming,” he countered. you nodded your head as if to say ‘valid’.

he stepped closer, without hesitation this time.

“you’re not drunk,” he said with a tone of finality.

“i’m aware,” you hummed.

“and you still came.”

“also aware,” you smiled, glancing up at him.

“good.” his expression shifts to unveil something softer.

he kissed you gently, surely. like you’d both decided that this was something you wouldn’t be pretending away anymore. 

your fingers curled into his hoodie, pulling him closer without thinking.

he exhaled slowly against your lips, one of his hands sliding to your waist, the action dangerously familiar.

when you pulled away from him, you were smiling. “this is a bad idea.”

“yeah,” he agreed. but neither of you moved away anyway.

☆

after that, it got harder, but easier at the same time: harder, because you had to act normal around your brother and the others. easier, because you didn’t want to stop.

you started noticing little things; the way he always sat in places from where he could see you. the way his foot nudged yours under the table when no one was looking during dinners with your families. the way he passed you things and let his fingers linger just a second too long. the way he looked at you, like a secret only the two of you understood.

one night, however, it almost went wrong. your brother was right there. some of your mutual friends came over to watch a movie.

you were tucked into the corner, with james beside you. too close. your brother sat on the other end of the small couch, completely oblivious.

your hand rested between your bodies on a pillow. slowly, james’ fingers brushed against yours. you froze, not daring to look at him or at your hands, as his pinky hooked around yours. it was the smallest thing in the world, but somehow the loudest too.

your heart was pounding so hard, you were sure riki could hear it. instead, he just laughed at something on the screen, before getting up to get some snacks.

you pulled your hand back. “are you insane, yufan?” you glared at him, using his government name you rarely did.

“you didn’t let go, did you?” he grinned.

“that’s not the point,” you muttered.

“it kind of is,” he shot back.

“we’re going to get caught,” you emphasised.

“not if you stop overreacting,” he said coolly.

“i’m not, i’m being realistic. huge difference.”

he leaned closer, dropping his voice lower. “you look cute when you panic.”

you shoved his shoulder away with mock annoyance, rolling your eyes at him. “you’re so annoying.”

“you like me,”

“unfortunately,” you bit back without missing a beat. he grinned, but it wasn’t all teasing.

sometimes, it was quieter than that; like the nights you were too tired to play secret games.

james had stayed for a sleepover, but riki had clocked out long ago.

you sat on the floor with your back against the couch.

some cheesy drama was playing faintly on the tv, but neither you nor james were looking at it.

he sat beside you—close, but without touching.

“do you ever think about what happens?” you whispered. 

“what?”

“when we get caught.”

“…i do, but,” he shrugged. “it hasn’t stopped me yet.”

you glanced at him. “it probably should…”

“probably,” he paused. his voice turned gentler. “do you want to stop?”

“no,” you didn’t even hesitate. 

“okay.”

you realised that it really was that simple all along; no pressure or dramatic confession. just… choosing each other, even if it didn’t completely make sense yet. 

one night, after another one of your secret encounters, your forehead rested against his. your breaths came out in uneven pants. 

“we… this doesn’t feel all that secret anymore,” you whispered. 

his thumb brushed against your waist, tracing shapes into your skin. “yeah.” he swallowed. 

“is that… a bad thing?”

he looked at you, like really looked at you then. like he was trying to find the last missing piece of a puzzle that was meant to be solved long ago.

finally, he spoke. “i don’t think i want it to be.”

your heart skipped a beat. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

you smiled, just a little bit. “sounds like a problem.”

he laughed quietly. “kinda.”

but he didn’t pull away; rather, he pulled you closer. and that’s when whatever you had with each other began to shift from something secret to… something you knew wouldn’t stay hidden for much longer. 

☆

you knew you should’ve been more careful. you knew. so did james. but apparently knowing something and actually doing it were two different things. 

it happened on a relatively  normal day: riki was yelling at a game while smashing the controller in his hand. you sat on the couch, with james next to you. he was too close—not touching, of course, but so close that you could feel him beside you. 

it was late, and all three of you were tired. your guard was down—mistake number one. 

“oi, yn, get me some water,” riki called out without looking away from the screen. 

“get it yourself,” you groaned. “loser.”

“i’m in the middle of a match,” he argued. “dipshit.”

“sounds like a you problem to me.”

“just go!”

you rolled your eyes, getting up anyway. “unbelievable,” you muttered to yourself. “fuckface.”

as you passed james, his hand nudged yours subtly. quick enough that your brother couldn’t see it. you glanced down, but he wasn’t even looking at you. his fingers, however, brushed yours again, and he murmured. “bring me some too.”

you scoffed lightly. “get it yourself.”

he hummed. “mm… or maybe you could just be nice.”

you didn’t respond, but you returned to the room with two glasses anyway. 

mistake number two.

riki grabbed his glass without a second glance. “finally.”

but james looked straight at you. “thanks,” he said simply. it sounded so casual, so normal, but it wasn’t. because his fingers brushed yours when he took it, and lingered for just a second too long. 

you should’ve pulled away faster—but you didn’t.

and that’s when it happened: riki noticed. 

“james, man, what are you—” he cut himself off mid-sentence. you both froze, looking up. 

riki was staring. not confused or amused or anything; just staring at you both. at your hands, which were still too close. at the way you both pulled back your hands a second too late. 

“…what was that?” he asked calmly. too calmly. 

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. you didn’t know how to explain to your brother that you were with his best friend. 

“nothing,” james exhaled. 

wrong answer.

riki let out a short laugh that sounded borderline dangerous. “yeah?” he set his controller down and stood up. his eyes shifted between the two of you. “because that didn’t look like ‘nothing’ to me.”

“it wasn’t—” you started, but you didn’t know what you were going to say anyway. so you stopped. 

a thick blanket of silence wrapped around the room. 

“…how long?” he asked finally.

you blinked at him. “what?”

“how long,” he repeated. “has whatever this is been going on?”

you glanced at riki. but he wasn’t looking at you. he was looking at james. 

“it’s not—” you started. 

“don’t lie to me, by the way,” he snapped. you flinched at his tone. 

“i’m not lying,” you tried weakly. 

“then explain it.”

you couldn’t—not without spilling everything.

“it’s recent,” james said finally. your head snapped towards him. those were his choice of words?

riki scoffed. “define ‘recent’.”

“a few weeks.”

“a few weeks?” your brother repeated incredulously. “you’ve been sneaking around for weeks? great!”

“it wasn’t like that, man—”

“then what was it like?” riki ran a hand roughly through his hair. “fuck.”

nobody answered. there wasn’t a simple version of… this, to explain.

riki began pacing, trying not to lose it. “are you being serious right now?” he looked right at james. “out of everyone,” he paused. “her?” he pointed to you. 

“i’m right here,” you muttered as something twisted in your chest. 

“i know you’re right here, yn! that’s the problem!” he snapped. 

“don’t talk about me like i’m not a part of this!” you snapped back at him. 

“oh, you’re very much a part of this. which is why i want to know what the hell you’re thinking.”

“i’m thinking i don’t need your permission.”

“yes, you do—when it’s him!”

“why?”

because he’s my best friend!”

“and i’m your sister, not your fucking property, riki!”

he finally shut up. he looked between you and james again. frustration flashed across his face, morphing into hurt. 

“you didn’t even tell me,” he said quietly. it would’ve been less worse if he was plain angry instead. 

“i was going to,” you said unconvincingly. he scoffed. 

“when?”

you didn’t have an answer, so you didn’t say anything. he let out a bitter laugh.

“unbelievable.” be turned to james. “you—what, you thought this was a good idea?”

“no,” james said honestly, meeting riki’s gaze. 

“…no?”

“no, i knew it wasn’t.”

“then why—”

“because i like her.”

he said it so simply, without hesitating or backing down. your heart stopped. 

riki just… stared at him. “…you what?” he asked, as if trying to process it. 

“i like her,” james repeated. “it wasn’t planned. it just—it just happened.”

riki’s eyes turned towards you. “you?”

you swallowed. “yeah. i like him too.”

that was it: the rubicon. the point of no return. 

your brother exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding it in all this while. his eyes flickered between the two of you again, trying to figure out what to do with this—with you.

“this isn’t some problem to fix, riki,” you said. 

“this is messed up,” he muttered as if he didn’t hear you. 

“why exactly—?”

“because!”

“that’s not a reason, riki.”

“it is when it’s my best friend and my sister!” he paused. his voice dropped a little. “is this… serious?”

you inhaled. “yeah.”

james didn’t interrupt—didn’t correct you or downplay it. and that mattered.

your brother noticed, of course.

“right,” he sighed and  rubbed his face. “great. perfect. love this.” he paced again before stopping, and pointing at james. “if you hurt her, we’re done.” he turned to you. “you let him hurt you? i’m still blaming him.”

you almost laughed, despite… everything considered. “i need to lie down,” he muttered, walking to his room. “don’t talk to me.” he paused at the door before closing it. “this is so messed up.”

you finally exhaled as you watched him disappear into his room. 

“well… that went horribly,” you commented, flopping onto the couch. 

james let out a short laugh. “could’ve been worse.”

you turned to fave him. “how?”

“he didn’t punch me.”

“give it time.”

he grinned slightly, breaking the tension just a little—but it settled again; not as a secret or something hidden but… as something real. finally out in the open. 

messy and complicated, but real.

“you really just said that, huh?” you mumbled after a second or two. 

“said what?”

“that you like me.”

“i do,” he shrugged, like it was a fact. 

the heart-shaped sirens went off again. “idiot.”

“yeah?”

he leaned his head against the couch, sitting down on the cold ground.

“yeah.”

you slid down from the couch to join him. you leaned your head on his shoulder, humming.

“we’re dead,” you said. 

“probably.”

you nudged his shoulder and poked his side. “so worth it.”

☆

the first time you went somewhere that wasn’t your house, or your balcony, or somewhere hidden… it felt strange. 

“this is so stupid,” you muttered, but the smile on your face betrayed your words.

“you were the one who  suggested it,” james pointed out, handing you a stack of arcade tokens. 

“i didn’t think you’d agree!” you shrugged. 

“you asked. of course i’d say yes.”

you paused mid-step, looking back at him. “sounds like a bad habit.”

“probably,” he hummed. “but it’s working out great so far.” he grinned at you. 

the arcade was loud—not in an overwhelming way, but in a chaotic sense. bright neon lights flashed as machined beeped loudly, and children ran back and forth. 

“all right,” you clapped your hands together. “prepare to lose.”

“in what, exactly?” he raised an eyebrow with curiosity.

“everything.”

“you’re so cheeky,” he muttered, laughing to himself. “confident little shit.”

“i’m a correct little shit,” you retorted, grinning at him as you dragged him to a game. it was a basketball shooting one. “three rounds. loser buys food.”

“deal.”

you won the first round 57-12.

and the second: 61-12.

and the third: 68-12.

“oh my god,” you doubled over, laughing at him with tears forming in your eyes. “you’re genuinely so consistently bad at this!”

“i was adjusting!” he argued. 

“to what, failure?”

he scoffed and shook his head as you clutched his sleeve for balance while laughing your heart out. 

“you’re insufferable when you win, you know that?” he rolled his eyes playfully. 

“and you’re broke, you know that?” you wiggled your eyebrows at him teasingly. “food!” you ordered. 

he rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue—just bought you your usual order that he knew by heart. 

later, you wound up at one of those claw machines—the ones everybody knew were rigged, but tried to win anyway.

“don’t do it,” he warned you. 

“james, i can feel it in my bones,” you insisted, already inserting some coins. “this is my moment.”

“you said that for the last three games.”

“this one’s different!”

it wasn’t.

you failed—at least four times. 

“ok, wait,” you narrowed your eyes, leaning closer to the glass. your face was stuck to the glass, fogging up where your warm breath touched it. “this one’s rigged.”

“yeahhh, definitely not a skill issue,” he said seriously. 

“shut up!”

after your seventh attempt, he gently pushed you aside when you were mid-sigh. “move.”

“oh?” you scoffed. “you think you can do better?”

“watch,” he rolled his eyes playfully. 

you were praying on his downfall, in all honesty—mostly because you had an ego right now, but he got it in two tries. 

“shut up,” you groaned. “unfair.”

he handed you a small plushie with a shrug. “skill.” he reinforced as you mocked him and rolled your eyes. “i told you, skill.”

you looked up at him and thanked him softly. “thanks yu.”

he froze for a second at your tone before recovering quickly. “uh yeah, obviously.” he cleared his throat loudly. 

you hugged the soft toy a little closer than necessary, your eyes never leaving his. and for once, neither of you made a joke. 

☆

it was much later that month when everything shifted again. 

you were in your room, doom-scrolling your day away again, when you heard the front door creek open louder than it usually did. hushed voices followed—not your brother’s.

your heart stopped beating for a whole second when you stepped out into the hallway and saw him. james.

your breath caught. he looked wrong.

his lip was split—the skin was pulled tight and angry, already darkening into a scarily deep bruise that spread out in uneven rays of purple and blue. a thin trickle of dried blood stuck stubbornly to the corner of his mouth, and it cracked slightly every time his jaw shifted. you were scared it might reopen if he spoke too much. 

his cheek was swollen and the skin was puffed and tender-looking, like even touching it would make it worse. it was still red, as if the impact of the blow still lingered there. 

“what happened?” you asked worriedly, but it came out sharper than you’d intended. 

his knuckles were so much worse up close—scraped raw with the skin broken in patches as faint drops of blood clung there before slipping down into the creases of his fingers. dirt stuck to his wounds, shining darkly against the red—like he hadn’t really bothered to clean them… or maybe he didn’t get the time to. 

he looked up at you, and his eyes softened. “hey,” he said like it was a normal tuesday. as if he hadn’t shown up looking half-dead just now. 

“what happened?” you repeated, even quieter this time. 

riki glanced between you both and frowned. “some fight. stupid one. i told him to just come in and sit,” he muttered.

“i’m fine,” james added quickly. nobody bought his lie.

he held himself with a certain stiffness, not obvious at first glance, but it was there. if you looked long enough. and you always looked long enough when it came to james.

his shoulders were set too carefully—too practiced. his posture was a little too rigid to pass off as ‘fine’, because he looked like every movement had to be calculated and measured. even the smallest shift made him flinch and caused a near-invisible hitch in his breath. it wasn’t dramatic pain, not loud or attention-seeking, but the quiet kind that seeped deeply into the muscle and bone while making it known in subtle ways like the way he hesitated to move before he did—bracing himself for it to get worse, if he moved wrongly. 

wordlessly, you turned and walked towards the bathroom, gesturing at james to follow. he hesitated for a second before walking in behind you.

you motioned for him to sit before you grabbed the first aid kit. he sat as comfortably as a beat up person could, spreading his legs a little bit. you still didn’t say anything to him. 

you only looked at him, when you stood in the space between his legs. that’s when your eyes filled without warning. his expression quickly shifted from guarded to worry. 

“hey, hey,” he started immediately softly. “pretty girl, don’t—”

you blinked and sniffled but it couldn’t be helped; a tear slipped down anyway. 

“fuck you,” you whispered. 

“please don’t cry,” he muttered. he reached up slowly and brushed his thumb under your eye to catch your tears. 

“you’re hurt,” you pointed out painfully obviously. 

“i’ve been worse.”

“that’s not really comforting.”

he huffed out a small laugh, but it faded just as fast as it came when he saw another tear slip down your cheek. 

“i didn’t want you to see me like this,” he admitted under the quiet night. 

your hands paused mid-motion as the cotton pad hovered just above his scraped knuckles. a thin smear of yellow antiseptic glowed under the dim light, and for a second, you forgot what you were even doing. his voice an edge to it. 

“why?”

he didn’t answer right away, hesitating, and his hand tensed just a little slightly in yours. he curled into himself like he was bracing for another hit. 

you dipped the cotton back into the bottle of antiseptic, giving him some time, before pressing it to his skin. he flinched at the cool sting, but didn’t pull away. 

“because,” his haw tightened as if he regretted starting to talk at all. “i thought you’d think it was… ugly.”

your chest tightened at his words that sat wrong. the word sounded heavy and misplaced, belonging nowhere near him. 

you softened your touch and gaze equally without even realising it. you carefully turned his hand to check the other side. small cuts under along his fingers were faintly bruising beneath the skin. 

“james,” you said softly. you cleaned each of his fingers methodically, slowly, as if being gentle with him now could undo what had happened before. 

he swallowed and fixed his eyes over your shoulder and looked at anything except your face. 

“i stopped getting into fights,” he continued. almost like he couldn’t stop now. he spoke more rushed and quieter like they’d been on his tongue for too long. “after… you. after i realised that i liked you, and i just… i just didn’t want you to look at me like that.”

you reached for a clean cloth, nodding your head as you listened to him, letting him talk. your throat burned. 

you wiped away the excess antiseptic from his knuckles before dabbing them dry. your fingers lingered for a second longer as you traced the faint swell of the bruises. 

“it wasn’t my fault this time,” he added, sounding a little frustrated now. the tension crawled back into his voice. “it just happened. wrong place, wrong time.”

you nodded, and set the cloth aside. you shifted closer and brought your hand up to brush your thumb against his jaw. you slowly guided him to finally look at you. 

“you’re not ugly,” you whispered, because words seemed to loud for the moment. “you could never be ugly to me.”

he froze completely, unmoving in front of you. even his breaths paused, as if your words were a sweater that got hooked to a sharp edge in his heart. 

you didn’t look away—not when his eyes searched yours like he almost didn’t believe you; not when his expression softened in a vulnerable way.

instead, you reached for a cotton bud, dipped it carefully before bringing it up to the cut on the side of his lip. your touch turned more careful, more slower, like you were afraid of hurting him more than he already was. 

he inhaled sharply as the antiseptic stung his lip, and instinctively tightened his hand against your wrist before relaxing just as quickly. 

“sorry,” you mumbled. your thumb brushed lightly beneath his lips as if it would soothe the sting. you silently worked, cleaning up his wound and wiping away the last few traces of blood as your other hand steadied his chin.

when you were done, you pulled back a little to finally check his entire face: there was still a little bit of redness and swelling, but everything looked much cleaner and softer now. 

“does it hurt?” you asked. 

“a bit,” he shrugged in the way he did when he tried to look nonchalant, but failed. you frowned slightly, lightly tapping the edge of his cut to check if it would bleed again. 

you hummed to yourself, hands dropping slowly. neither of you moved away from the other. 

a silence—full of everything that had just been said and everything that hadn’t—settled between you. 

“people say you should kiss injuries better, right?” you said softly. 

he blinked before letting out a quiet laugh. “yeah?”

you nodded shyly even though you were the one who said it. “yeah.”

“i hurt my lip,” he said coyly, tilting his head. you huffed. 

“unbelievable,” you said while fighting off a smile. 

“just saying,” he shrugged. “medical advice.” a smile tugged at his lips that mirrored yours. 

you leaned in closer anyway, kissing him gently—carefully, like you were still scared to hurt him; like you were trying to fix it all.

when you pulled back, his hand came up to rest on your cheek. 

“you were crying,” he said in a tone that made you think he couldn’t get over it. 

“you were bleeding, fucker,” you shot back. 

“still am.”

“dramatic ass.”

“learnt from the best,” he shot finger-guns at you, like a guy from a decade ago would’ve done. you rolled your eyes, letting out a small laugh, which faded soon. 

“i really really hate seeing you like that,” you admitted. 

he studied your face for half a minute—your slightly puffy eyes, red nose, dried tear streaks across your cheeks, and your lips that still trembled a little.

“i love you,” he said, softer than anything he’d ever said before. 

the words hung in the air as your good old heart-shaped sirens returned. 

“you—” you blinked once. twice. thrice, for good measure. “you do?”

he smiled slowly. “yeah.” something in your chest unravelled completely.

“i love you,” you said in a single breath. 

he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he pulled you closer to press a kiss to your forehead.

“you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that, pretty girl?” he muttered. 

“you literally just got into a fight,” you whispered back. 

“and this still feels more dangerous,” he huffed softly. 

you smiled before pecking the corner of his lips. “good.”

and when he kissed you properly again, it felt certain. not like a secret, not like something that ‘shouldn’t be happening’.

like something you both finally stopped being afraid of, and something that was completely yours. 

❤︎ an ─── ৻ꪆ watch me reread this bro it’s my own comfort fic atp  ⠀·⠀⠀long ass fic btw we cheered · guys this fic is literally sunny’s and my (?) child, we’ve been preggers with this amazing baby for like 2.5-ish months 😓

You open the door, pushing a box in front of you. “Okay, I think that's all of it.” James stands in front of you. Hood over his head. Sunglasses on. You look at him for a second before clearing your throat, “So, uh—let me know if I missed anything.” He doesn't look up.

His eyes are locked in on the floor. He doesn't bend down to pick up the box. He doesn't say hi to you. All he does is stare at the floor. His hands clenched into a fist, “What did I do?” You grip the door, “Don't make it harder than it already is,” you mutter, starting to close the door. James grabs the door before you can close it. “At least tell me what I did wrong?” he asks, finally looking up at you. His eyes are bloodshot red. Dark circles sit beneath them—he clearly hasn't been sleeping. “It’s been a whole week, get over it. Please.” You say forcing the door close. 

You broke up with James. You don't know why you did it.

Lies.

The truth sits ugly in your chest, refusing to be swallowed. You know exactly why you broke up with him. You loved him—no, you love him. Maybe that was the problem. Love is supposed to be selfless, right? You’re supposed to help each other grow, right? So why did it feel like you were holding him back? He’s an idol. He has a job, a life and dreams to achieve. 

Love is supposed to be selfless—full of sacrifices and putting someone else's happiness before your own. That's what James always does. When he loves, he loves heavily. He'd always been like that. Even during his trainee years, and back when he was in Trainee A. Irrespective of his schedule he always made time for you. And you saw it, you always did. The way his shoulders would slump down. The way exhaustion lingered beneath his eyes. The way he showed up even when you told him not to. Even when you said it's okay. Even when you scolded him and told him sternly to get rest. He always simply said—”I’ll rest better with you.”

Somewhere along the way, his schedule only got worse when he debuted in Cortis. Days packed with music production, dance practices, music video shoots, and whatnot.

 And yet, he always showed up. 

It started off normal. He’d show up around 8 p.m. looking sort of energetic. But it went downhill. It always does. He started showing up at random hours. In the early hours of the morning. Once he came over at 3 a.m.

You remember waking up with a familiar grip on your waist—James. “James?” Your voice low and groggy. He hummed into the crook of your neck. You slid closer to him, ‘When did you come over?” His voice came out muffled, “Around 3, I don’t really remember.”

“Why didn’t you stay at the dorm? Why travel so much to come here?” 

He only gripped you tighter, “Wanted to.” 

One thing about James is that he always shows up. He showed up for your fifth anniversary after a sixteen-hour work day. He spent the entire dinner trying to convince you he wasn't exhausted. He failed miserably. Halfway through a story, he'd forgotten what he was talking about. His eyes kept drifting shut whenever there was a pause in the conversation. At one point, he reached for his drink and completely missed it. 

And still, when you told him he should've stayed home and rested, he only laughed. "It's our anniversary." Like that explained everything.

You knew his schedule was packed, but you never really realised how bad it had gotten. With the second album on the way, you should’ve received the memo. When someone talks to James, they have his full attention. So you knew it was bad when he had to check work messages during dinner with your parents. 

You tried to ask him about it. Tried to tell him it was okay if he didn't always show up. He wouldn't listen. 

The members were always supportive of both of you. They even joked about you both being their parents. So you understood it was bad when, right before the GREENGREEN release party, Martin called you. Telling you to make sure James stayed at the dorm that night. Traveling back and forth was exhausting for him. Martin sounded worried, genuinely worried.

And somehow, that was your cue to leave him. 

Sounds fucking ridiculous, you know that too. 

Everyone could see what loving you was costing him. Apart from him. 

The days following the breakup were brutal. You would see James everywhere. Especially with the new album out. The billboards were everywhere. They even won. 10 times at that. You wanted to tell James how proud you were of him. 

But you couldn't. 

Reaching out would only make things harder for him. At least, that's what you tell yourself.

“James?”

“Hello? James?” A kick to his chair finally breaks his trance, “Dude, what is it with you?” Martin asks, scoffing in annoyance.

James doesn't look up at him. He just buries his face in his palms. “Fuck,” he murmurs. 

Everybody knows about it. Of course they do, they’re his friends. “It’s about her again?”

“Her” 

That’s the term James has been hearing ever since the new album dropped. Everyone practically treated your name like a curse. It pissed him off. It pissed him off more than he’d want to admit. “Fuck Martin, just say Yn.” He sneered. 

“Right, sorry.” Martin rolled his chair back towards his side of the desk. “Is it about Yn?”

“Let’s just get back to this track.” He inhaled deeply. “Please,” he whispered.

James couldn't explain how he felt without sounding like an idiot. Nobody would understand how his days felt. How his days felt so empty. Knowing you’re not there to spam him with weird reels or tiktoks at weird hours. Knowing you weren't there to ask if he'd eaten. Knowing you weren't there to spam him with blurry selfies and pictures of things that reminded you of him.

He still woke up, still got ready, performed and all that. Everything looked normal. But it didn't feel normal. He was drowning in something, but he didn't know why. He wasn’t able to sleep at night knowing he did something to hurt you enough to break up with him. 

How could it be something a conversation couldn't fix?

Everything felt hollow, shallow. Even though the album climbed up charts, even though the album won multiple awards. He didn't feel happy. It felt too mundane. It's not mundane—it shouldn’t be. He should be over the moon. This is all he’s dreamt of ever since he was 15. 

Where were you when he needed you the most? He didn't know what to do without you by his side. It was almost as if the days he'd spent without you were utterly meaningless. You slid into his life so easily—like the missing piece of a puzzle. Without you, everything was incomplete. You were the finishing touch on a painting he'd spent years working on. Without you, he felt empty.

James tried everything. He tried to be angry at first. Keyword: tried. He even tried blocking you. He couldn't. His fingers would freeze halfway through.

Every good thing that happened made him reach for his phone. 

So did the bad things. 

He was so used to texting you after every minor inconvenience. With you gone, who was he supposed to talk to? He remembered vividly how he'd text you at exactly 2 a.m. Back when James was just Zhao Yufan trying to court you. You both used to talk till the morning. You both would walk to school together with the same drowsiness in your eyes. The reason? Two lovesick fools trying to salvage the few hours of privacy they got at night.

James’ initial attempts at being angry failed. He knew he had to move on. Out of sight, out of mind, they say. But how was he supposed to keep you out of sight when you were everywhere? James opened his phone? A picture of you two. He opens his wallet to pay for something? A polaroid of you. He opens his laptop to produce music? A picture of you again. Fuck that, he even found a polaroid of you both in his pocket.

He almost thought you found a way to haunt him for his mistakes. Mistakes he isn't aware of because you wouldn't tell him. Maybe it was the universe mocking him. Maybe it was truly that evident. Maybe he’s just stupid.

“James?” Martin whispered, leaning closer to him. He turns his head slightly to look at Martin. Martin exhales loudly, “Dude, you’re not doing okay.” He spins in his chair. “Go talk to her. Get closure.” Seonghyeon chimes in, “Yeah, it’s kinda stupid how she didn’t tell you why.”

“It makes no sense.” Keonho adds on. “Just go.” Juhoon says with finality. James could only look around the room. “She said she’s fine,” He mutters. “She probably doesn’t care.” He leans back in his chair, looking straight at the ceiling. His eyes look soulless.

“Doesn’t matter, you’re fucking yourself up. You weren’t even happy after winning an award. That says enough.” Juhoon said, annoyance laced in his words. Keonho gets up from the couch, grabbing James' hands. He pulled him up. “Go. Now. Stop being a loser, we can’t have you like this.” He spins James around. “I’m sure you can get her back.” He said, finally pushing James to the door. 

You’re scrolling through your phone. Scrolling through Cortis’ instagram, to be precise. And to be even more precise, you were stalking Martin's account—it was the safest place to get updates. Martin barely used the account apart from posting silly stories. These silly stories were your holy grail this month. 

You knew Cortis was in the studio today. You knew they were all busy. You threw your phone on the couch, getting up to grab something to drink. Before you could pull the handle of your refrigerator, your door was met with loud thuds. Three loud thuds echo through the hallway.

You knew who it was. You didn't even have to check. But nonetheless, you walk to the door. All you want is a glimpse of James, you get on your tippy-toes to peep through the peephole. 

And then you see him. His eyes are still red. He’s been crying. He’s constantly fidgeting with his fingers. 

“Yn I know you're standing there.” He said You freeze for a second, opening your door now. “James?” You let out shakily. 

He looks at you, “Do you still love me?” He pauses, “Do you?”

“James, go back to the studio. Stop making it this complicated.” He chokes on a sob, “If you think it’s complicated, that means you still care. I can’t go back. I can’t not love you, I don’t even know what went wrong, Yn.” You should tell him to leave, you should slam the door on his face. You’re holding him back. You drain him. He’s exhausted because he goes above and beyond for you. “Please leave.”

“No.” he says sternly, now entering your apartment without letting you protest. 

He grabs your hand and leads you to the couch. He pushes you down, making you sit on the couch as he gets on his knees. His face now buried in your lap. His voice comes out muffled, “Please. Baby please tell me what I did wrong.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Nothing.”

James goes still, he looks up at you. “Nothing?” he repeats.

“You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Then why?” His voice cracks on the single word. You can feel his fingers tightening around yours. “Yn, look at me.” You don't, because the second your eyes meet his. You don’t know what’ll happen. “Look at me.”

Slowly, you do. His eyes are red. His lashes are wet. He looks exhausted. “You don't just throw away five years and tell me nothing happened.”

The tears burn behind your eyes. “James—”

“No.” He shakes his head. “A month ago you were telling me I was the love of your life.” His laugh comes out broken. “Four weeks ago we were arguing over what movie to watch.” Another sarcastic chuckle. “Three weeks ago, you broke up with me.” His voice is shaky. “So tell me what happened.”

You stare at him. At the eyebags. At the way his hands won't stop shaking. At how tired he looks. And that only further proves your point. “You're exhausted.”

James blinks. “What?”

“You never sleep.” The words start tumbling out before you can stop them. “You show up after sixteen-hour work days.”

“Yn—”

“You come over at three in the morning.”

“Yn.”

“You're constantly working.”

You wipe your tears. “Martin literally called me and told me to make sure you stayed at the dorm because travelling back and forth was exhausting you.”

James freezes.

 “You remember our anniversary?” You laugh bitterly. “You could barely keep your eyes open.”

“Baby—”

“Stop calling me that.” Your voice breaks. “Do you know how horrible it feels watching someone you love run themselves into the ground?”

James stares.

“You have albums to make. Stages to perform on. Fans waiting for you.” You look away. “And all I do is take more from you.”

“Yn.”

“You don't understand.” The tears are falling freely now. “You always show up.” You feel your heart twists. “Even when you're exhausted. Even when you're sick. Even when I tell you not to.” You laugh shakily. “You'd choose me every single time.”

James' head tilts. And suddenly he understands, not completely but almost enough. Not completely. “That's why you left?” You don't answer. “You left because you thought I loved you too much?”

A sob escapes your throat. “You were so tired, James.” The confession leaves you in pieces. “You looked so tired.”

Silence engulfed the room for a second. 

“You idiot.” Your head snaps up. James is crying now too.“You absolute idiot.”

“James—”

“You think that's what I wanted?” His voice shakes. “You think I was showing up because I had to?”

“James—”

“I showed up because I wanted to.”

He grabs your hands, grounding you right by his side. Desperately , afraid you’ll pull back. “Because every good thing that happened made me want to tell you first.” Another tear slips down his cheek. “Every bad thing too. I don't know how to do this without you. Do you know what this feels like?” His grip tightens on your wrists now. “I'd wake up and reach for my phone.” He takes a deep breath. “Nothing. I'd finish a schedule. Nothing. We won awards.” His voice breaks completely. “And all I could think was that you would've been happy.”

You start sobbing harder. “James...”

He wipes the tears on your face. “Pease, don’t let me go. Days feel so incomplete without you here, I swear I go insane.” His forehead rests against your hands.

“Please. I don't care if you're scared, I don't care if we fight, I don't care if things get messy. Fuck, I don’t care if the whole world finds out about this.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Just don't run away from me. I'm not tired because of you.” He shakes his head. “I'm tired because my job is tiring.” A weak laugh escapes his lips. “But you?” His thumb brushes across your knuckles. “You're the only reason I’m surviving,”

You break completely, tears flow down uncontrollably now. And before you know it, you're crying into his shoulder while he holds you like he's terrified you'll disappear again.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Over and over, and over again. Like he's making up for every day he didn't get to say it. “I love you.” A kiss to your forehead. “I love you.” another on the corner of your mouth, “I love you.” His voice cracks. “Don’t ever do that.”

“I’m sorry,” you say amidst your sobs. “I’m sorry.” The apology sounds pathetic the second it leaves your mouth. “I’m sorry—I should've talked to you. I should've communicated.” Your voice cracks. “Instead I—I just...” The words refuse to come out. You broke up with him. You hurt him. You spent weeks pretending it was for the best. And now that he's here, kneeling in front of you, holding onto you like you'll disappear again, none of it makes sense anymore.

A sob escapes your throat. “I was scared.” Before you can say anything else, James pulls you into his arms. His arms wrap around you. “It's okay,” he whispers.

His own voice isn't steady either. “It's okay.”

“No, it's not.”

“Baby.”

“It's not,” you repeat through tears. “I hurt you.”

James lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah.” The honesty and exhaustion in his voice makes you cry harder. “Yeah, you did.” His grip tightens. “But I'm sorry too.”

You pull back slightly. “What?”

James wipes his eyes. “I should've realised sooner.”

“Realised what?”

“That you were worried.” His gaze drops. “I kept thinking if I showed up, it'd be enough.” A weak smile appears on his face. “I didn't realise you were watching me fall asleep halfway through dinner.”

A chuckle escaped your lips. “We're really stupid, huh?”

“Extremely.”

“Very embarrassing.” Another laugh slips out between your tears. And for the first time in what feels like ages, James hears it. Your laugh.

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